‘You don’t understand how cut off they’ve been, some of the Rohingya,’ Savannah had explained months earlier, walking around Balukhali camp. ‘We had one of the most famous football stars in the world here. He was an ambassador for a charity, here for one of those photo ops a few weeks ago. But the refugees didn’t know who he was. They had never heard of him; they had never heard of his club. Not once. Even in the most remote parts of Africa the kids always know the clubs: Chelsea. Arsenal. Manchester United. But here, nothing.’

Now, Casey tried to explain to Khadija: ‘There is a procedure that makes the women have babies, and then the babies are taken away.’

Khadija understood now, a burn on her cheeks.

‘Yes.’ She gave a slow nod, staring at the floor. ‘Yes.’

‘Is that what has happened to you?’

Another careful nod.

There was a beat of silence. Then Casey went on. ‘Was a baby girl born here, maybe yesterday?’

Tears filled Khadija’s eyes. Yes, she nodded again.

‘And where is the mother now?’

There was a long silence.

‘Where is the mother now?’ Casey spoke more urgently.

‘What is the mother’s name?’ Hessa tried.

Khadija tipped her chin in the air, staring at the corrugated-iron roof as she thought. ‘Zohra,’ Khadija said. ‘Her name is Zohra.’

Khadija was twisting her sheet back and forth between her hands now, almost tearing at it.

‘And where is she now?’

Khadija looked at Casey, eyes carefully blank.

‘Mirta,’ she said, and Casey didn’t need Hessa to translate.

‘She’s dead,’ said Hessa. ‘Zohra died giving birth.’

Khadija was crying now, tears running down her face. Pausing for a minute, Casey looked around. Then she stood up, peering closer. In one corner of the room, there was a neat bed, with a carefully tucked-in sheet. Someone had painted a few yards of wall pale blue, and stuck up a poster. A smiling child, a beaming nurse, advice on vaccinations. A Doppler machine sat on a white steel filing cabinet. And a bed, half-hidden by a colourful curtain.

It was the backdrop of Emily’s photograph, Casey realised. That reassuring scene was all they had needed. A cheap clinic nearby would be able to do the ultrasounds, and the same clinic could probably perform the embryo transfer. It hadn’t taken much to gloss the image, and who would ever check?

Just a few feet away from the white filing cabinet, a woman was sitting on the floor, staring blankly at Casey, her knees huddled protectively. Casey tried to smile at her.

She turned back towards Khadija.

‘We can get you out of here.’ Casey tried to make her voice sound confident. ‘If you come with us, we can help you escape.’

Khadija looked up, a flicker of interest in her eyes. ‘But where would we go?’